


the pilgrim's way home

by dreamofspring



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Hoshimeguri AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, first chapter set between ch 25 and the epilogue, how Curse managed to come back, i can't believe Vega is Curse's dad, second chapter post epilogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofspring/pseuds/dreamofspring
Summary: The calamity has been prevented, but the story has not reached a happy ending yet - not until the lost Pilgrim finds his way back to the one he loves the most, and his new place in the changed world.





	the pilgrim's way home

**Author's Note:**

> Small CW about not very detailed description of an aftermath of a battle in one of Curse's flashbacks.

Capella draws in a sharp breath.

As soon as he steps around the crumbled pillar blocking his view, he is thrown back in time, as if the last thousand years had been but a dream. The inside of the Grand Temple, always kept in the state of timeless harmony, unaffected by the the seasons, seems to be filled by the sweet breath of spring. Familiar warmth, as gentle as the rays of Mistero’s sun filtered through the leaves, strokes Capella’s skin and sinks deep into his chest. The corners of his mouth lift involuntarily in a smile, his eyes stinging. This power, so pure that just it’s touch clears away the fatigue of Capella’s body and mind, could come from only one person.   

A figure clad in flowing robes, holding himself with grace that belies the weight resting on his shoulders, stands in the center of the Star Sphere chamber, as he has done so many times before - although now, the chamber retains only it’s name, no longer it’s splendor or function. Some of the pillars supporting the domed ceiling have almost crumbled away, the destruction only progressing after the recent tumultuous events; climbing vines and small plants have invaded the Temple, taking over every crack and crevice. Though it couldn’t affect their bodies, the passage of time hasn’t spared their home. The blame falls on Capella, as well; in the days of the Temple’s glory, Capella would have never allowed for such a thing as rubble laying around under the Protector’s feet. Yet, any shame he may feel, all of the complicated, tangled up thoughts of wanting to spare Vega the burden of his position, pale next at this sight. Wide-eyed and breathless, he forgets all but the simple, selfish joy of being allowed to witness this beauty again.

Not all is the same. The light of the Star Sphere that would illuminate Lord Vega’s face is gone, his hands no longer clasped in prayer, but his posture is no less reverent. Perhaps it’s the way Vega’s power permeates the air, transmitting his feelings, or simply all of the years of observing his Lord, trying to guess every thought from the faintest expressions and smallest gestures to see to his needs - but Capella can feel Vega’s respect for the history of this place and the gratitude for the blessings bestowed by the Sphere as if it was his own. Vega raises his arms; the gesture is protective and loving, as if he was trying to embrace something or someone. Just the delicate arch of his fingers is enough to make Capella’s chest tight with emotion.

Vega’s sleeves billow and flutter with a gentle wind, different from how his own power would manifest. The same wind moves his hair; as Capella watches white strands dance around Vega's shoulders, a memory is nudged loose.

He has felt this wind on his face, before. The way it blew around the space, as if it was alive, before bringing along -

Capella is caught unawares when a turn of Vega’s head reveals a soft smile. The wind slowly subsides; the spell is broken. Vega slowly opens his eyes. He stays in place for a while, dazed, until he finally realizes he has an audience.

“Ah, Capella!” His voice carries a hint of joyous surprise, as if it was Vega who should be caught in disbelief, treading carefully to not disturb this daydream of a reality. “Most excellent news!”

“Lord Vega, why? Your powers-,” Capella stumbles over his words, “With all due respect, you should be resting...”

Vega gently shakes his head. “But, Capella, my Capella, listen! He is here! When I felt an energy similar to mine, I thought it just a dream or - my wishful thinking… But I sensed his presence, for certain. Still faint, like a wisp of smoke, but...”

The expression of relief and excitement on Vega’s face, so rare and precious, cuts right through Capella’s heart. How long has it been since he has seen it last? Ever since this smile clouded… At the same time, his words awaken a fear that turns his blood to ice.

“I haven’t caused harm with my interruption, have I?”

“I believe not,” Vega must have noticed his anxiety, for he gives Capella a smile even sweeter, if somewhat tired. “I have shared enough strength with the Observer to help him remain here. I can still feel him,” Vega caresses the air, “He is just quiet. I think I could also…. I could also use some -”

Vega wavers and stumbles. Capella manages to catch him in his arms just in time.

 

* * *

 

...Where…?

His field of vision is wider than it should be - wider than the bounds of human perception, but his sight is unfocused, as if trying to look in all directions at once. The image of vast space, surrounded by ancient white walls is a familiar one - he knows, somehow, that the chamber is wide enough to spread his wings inside…

Wings? But…

The cracked pieces of rubble below, with moss starting to show on the surface, used to form a pillar, he is sure, he saw it… Saw it fall, pushed it away, it would fall, but -

On whom?

Is this… Home? No - the air is... different. Clearer and calmer, filled with the faint scent of incense that he can almost feel, even though he isn’t sure if he is actually breathing in, or how… how to -  but - The air is colder. More still. Home was hot, dry winds blowing sands through the boundless desert, and sun, sun that reflected in his scales, but burned his human skin. Human?

He was… human?

A blur of images and sensations come flooding in; looking down at a small bundle, light as a feather; a tiny hand pulling on a strand of silver hair

  * His hair, it’s his hair -



A young boy, twirling around in an oversized dark blue robe embroidered golden, laughing in delight; a pair of eyes lit up in wonder and excitement in the same face, only a bit older. What… what was the boy listening to, so intently?

This boy, with the whole cosmos in his eyes and sunshine in his smile - Home is with this boy, by his side, but that is not… here.  He wants to go, but… can’t? He should be going, why… He’s moving, but staying in place?

...A voice? Calling him?

The gentle timbre soothes his confusion. It isn’t trust, but something too simple and primal for words. It is in his nature to heed this voice, understand it better than any other. A connection so old it hasn’t been formed consciously, but build into his very core at birth. A cornerstone of his self.

_“Do not be afraid. Try to calm down. You are still alright, you have done it. You’ve worked so hard, my child. I am by your side now; I will guide you.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ah… Forgive me, Capella. It must bring you pain, to see me laying here.”

Capella runs his fingers over Vega’s palm. “Please do not mind me. Focus on resting. This is the most comfortable place, until we find other suitable quarters for you -”

“For us,” Vega interjects gently, making Capella blush scarlet. Vega links the tips of their fingers; he gives an innocent laugh as he discovers Capella’s hand is burning hot. “I don’t think I could be at ease anymore, without you by my side.”

“Lord Vega, _please_ …!”

In his embarrassment he doesn’t realize that Vega is reaching for his hair. Lacking the strength, Vega settles for patting his arm instead.

“There, there?”

“Could you please not…! Oh, as long as you are happy….”

Not knowing what he may do if he looked at Vega’s face now, Capella lets his eyes wander. The countless lights in the sky, floating in the air and reflecting in the endless expanse of intermingling purple and blue gives the overlook a sense of being suspended in space. Being unable to share this enchanting scenery with the one who loved it the most always made its beauty a sad one. Now that he can feel Vega’s gaze on him, feel the warmth of his hand skin to skin, rather than trying to bring up a distant memory, the impression has changed completely.

“Why here?” He hears himself ask, “Why would the Observer return here? Why not to the place he chose as home?”

“I wonder…” Vega muses, linking their fingers together again. Both to Capella’s great delight and great discomposure, Vega has since stopped asking for permission to hold hands. While the gesture is more natural, now, Capella doesn’t think he could ever get used to the sensation. “Perhaps, the residual power filling this Temple is the answer. Born here, he instinctively seeked to draw from the source and rebuild his strength. Maybe he hoped to receive my help... But maybe I am all wrong.”Melancholy finds its way back into Vega’s tone. “I can understand, somehow, not wanting to show an ailing form to the one you care about.”

Capella can’t find any words. To speak out now and pick up on the allusion would be too daring, but to let Lord Vega blame himself… An awkward silence settles over them.

“Capella… You believe me, don’t you?”

‘Lord Vega!” Capella jumps in his seat. “Of course! I would never doubt your words! What reason would you have to lie?”

“For my own comfort… To turn away from reality and wish for the impossible. It is a weakness I’ve always had.”

The floating lights surrounding Vega’s pillows seem to grow dimmer, the whole space responding to its heart.

“To exhaust yourself trying to save the one who sacrificed this much protecting the world - what is weak about it?” Capella’s voice begins to shake; before he realizes, he’s standing up. “To refuse to give up on a soul in need, to try to bring those who were separated together… I see nothing but further proof of your kindness and strengths.”

Vega’s eyebrows go up in surprise. He tilts his head curiously, like a little bird.

“Capella… Haven’t you had your differences with the Observer? I thought you might oppose this...”

An unreadable, aloof face; eyes that seemed to look down on the world, calmly and coldly, unaffected by anything they’ve seen over hundreds of years. A faint smile Capella always thought to be gently mocking. Enormous, raw power, not swaying either way, so different from Lord Vega’a comforting warmth…

Contrasted with a gentle gaze of an Alabaster Dragon staring into the eyes of a young boy; a crumbling pillar about to fall on the boy’s head being blown away with superhuman strength; the man who called himself Curse wrapping the boy in such a genuine, affectionate hug. The Observer, the most human Capella has ever seen him, risking everything to protect the world Capella was so sure he’d choose to destroy.

“I have… I have decided to be grateful for the chance to fix my misconceptions. I am glad to have been proven wrong.”

“Capella…”

“If you tell me that the Observer is alive and present in this Temple, then so he is; as long as you wish to bring him back, then so do I. I can remind you as many times as necessary. If there is anything I could assist you with - ”

Vega responds with a shy smile. He reaches out for Capella again, with both hands.

“For now… Could you come closer?”

Capella wouldn’t even dream of refusing.

 

* * *

 

 

The voice tells him to rest and conserve strength, but he can’t bring himself to sleep; he has a vague feeling that he has spend far too long in slumber. The idea of sleep fills him with apprehension - if the purpose of it is to replenish the energy of the body, how would he know when to wake up, in his state?

Though his sense of self is shaky at best and things keep flowing back in disorganized, chaotic chunks, he’s not about to lose himself in the flood anymore. It helps that, unlike the image of the boy, so vivid and full of life, the memories are unfocused, as if belonging to someone else. It’s easy to let himself drift on the surface, observing, sifting through for the one face he wants to see the most - but countless years flash past, nothing standing out or attracting his attention. The images are devoid of color, don’t stir up any deeper reaction. Seasons seem to change between breaths, lives disappear as quickly as traces on sand. Only… a sense of fatigue seems to build up as he watches the good and the evil alike perish in disputes so petty, so pointless; it presses down on him like a heavy weight. A poisoned thorn seems to lodge itself somewhere in his chest. It’s not so deep of a feeling as pain, but fatigue that takes away the charm of every happier moment. He reaches for what he has most precious, for the only memories that really feel his, like for a lifeline. The thought of the boy carries the sensation of arms wrapping around his waist, a warm cheek nuzzling into his palm, feeling of a smile against his skin. Patting the boy’s head - the sense of comfort that spreads through his body tells him, _ritual, I would do this a lot_ \- and having to brush sand out of soft, curly hair, an insincere complaint among laughter… Those memories, so much more vivid and precious than the rest, why are they so few?

What if he can’t find him again?

Wait, what did he say, what was that name…. Hope?

Hope, Hope, _Hope!_

 

* * *

 

Lord Vega allows Capella to accompany him more readily than expected, even with gratitude. While Capella is happy to receive it, he can’t help but worry about how tasking the endeavor must be. He grasps Vega’s fingers lightly, keeping quiet to not ruin his concentration. Thousand years ago, Vega would have no need for such help, but now, out of practice - not that it was his fault, Capella adds quickly - his powers are just a bit more unbalanced, depleting a little faster. Compared to the power streaming continuously from Vega’s body, his own is still insignificant, but rather than trying to match it, he focuses on support.

No one has ever done this before.

When no body fell together from the sky with the Shards of the Sphere, the conclusion was obvious - but now, Capella can feel it himself, a presence that is, undoubtedly, still a part of of their world, on the same side as they are. Even though no body can be seen, the chamber seems to filled with his heartbeat. Perhaps, it is the Observer’s nature as a shapeshifter that is the answer. Having exhausted too much energy, he became stuck between forms - but thanks to his self not bound to a single body, his consciousness survived… or, at least, that is Capella’s best guess. The Observer himself may not know. Capella tries to remain objective, but… A single person taking on the burden threatening the whole world, fully knowing he won’t remain unharmed - even if it was for the sake of just one person, or maybe, Capella admits, gripping Vega’s hand tighter, because of that - there is no way he could be objective, is there?

The wind blowing through the room is stronger this time, its movement less random, more concentrated around Vega. Vega has his eyes closed, and even though he doesn’t say a word, somehow, he gives the impression of being immersed in a conversation. Whatever exchange is taking place, it’s between the Protector and the Observer only; all that Capella picks up is a sensation of overwhelming fatigue and longing. Capella closes his eyes as well and brings up the image of the man as he last remembered him, standing strong with determination, tries to give that image power. He visualizes himself as a pillar supporting Vega and the Observer both. He cannot be a sign post; it is not his role. _It is not us you need to return to,_ he speaks, even though the Observer may not be able to listen, _let your love guide you, as you did before._

 

* * *

 

 

He’s among ruins.

The return of the voice’s owner, his thoughts start to unfurl and order themselves, forming a single, coherent timeline. The voice explains, with some reluctance, as if the topic caused them pain, the circumstances of his creation - but as his thoughts become clearer, his nature and purpose does, as well.

He maneuvers with his wings carefully, preparing to land on a nearly destroyed balcony of the castle. The balustrade has been blown away, with some of the platform crumbling as well. As he expects unsteady footing, he transforms as soon as his feet touch the floor.

The wind from his wings makes more dust raise into into the air. His weak, human form coughs easily; the fine sand irritates his eyes, despite the hood pulled low over his face. Such an inhospitable star… He steps over the bodies strewn across the rooms and corridors without as much as a flinch; his eyes slide over the rust-red stains on the sandstone. Only numbness spreads through his heart at the reminders of the battle. He’s seen too many, and each time, it was as if the world became more gray, his decision more inevitable.

He follows the route that has appeared in his mind, as accurate as if he took it every day, without care for the rubble that makes him trip, the dust caking his face or the sweat that begins to run down his back when he has to clear a blocked passageway. Such inconveniences barely register; not even how this effort will soon be pointless, how he could have been spared this, not even that makes him think to complain. There is no cause-and-effect, no if, then. On his mind is only the task that brought him here.

It’s a corridor like any other, without special decorations or security; the only thing that makes it stand out is how clean and whole it is, in comparison to the rest of the palace. It seems that the fighting hasn’t reached here. He picks a door identical to several others. The moment he lays his hand on it, an fight echoes in his ears; words like _lack of respect, a laughingstock, defying tradition,_ lobbed at the young queen who would quietly smile and follow her own judgement. He pays respects to her spirit with a small bow. It was the queen’s wisdom that allowed this place to be spared.

The room is bathed in warm, red light. A simple, but elegant stand and pillow holds this Star’s biggest treasure, the Shard of the Star Sphere. The unusual sight is the small bed placed in front of it, illuminated softly by the Shard as if it was a night light. A child is tucked in under soft blankets, seemingly fast asleep; he peeks down at the bundle, trying to guess the boy’s age, when suddenly, the child’s eyes open and gaze deep into his. They have such an rare pink color, like gemstones themselves.

At first, the boy’s little face lights up, but the look of excitement soon fades. No wonder, he thinks wryly. The boy must have expected his parents have returned to get him - and that is how it should have been - without powers as particular as his, no one but the royal family should be able to enter this place - but instead, it’s some strange man that showed up. Poor thing.

He’s suddenly self conscious of his appearance; frantic and clumsy, he wipes at his face and tries to fix his braid, but only smears more dirt around. The boy’s gaze is intent, his expression almost worried. He panics; he should smile, but his facial muscles won’t obey. What kind of grimace he must be making right now? He has to smile, or the boy will cry…

Back then, he was too wrapped up in the moment to notice, not until later - such agitation and worry were something he never experienced before. Now, looking at the scene again, he does. Just for a moment, he has forgotten - or maybe didn’t want to remember - about his duty, or the weight of the choice he had to make. How he wishes he could forget, but there is no way to stop the memories from flooding in.

He’d make Hope cry so many times -

 

* * *

 

The wind becomes more violent; Vega stumbles and opens his eyes, confusion and alarm painted on his face. Capella tries to meet his gaze, but Vega seems to be looking at something beyond him. He shakes his head minutely and squeezes his eyes shut again. His hold on Capella’s hand almost cuts off Capella’s blood flow. A strong pulse of power from Vega reverberates through his whole body and nearly makes him lose his footing. Steadying himself, he jumps back in to keep the situation from spiraling out of control.

 

* * *

 

It seems like only yesterday he carried him out of the ruins, a small bundle that fit in his arms, but Hope is already old enough to play with other boys in the village. He comes back home covered in more mud and scratches than any of his peers, but with a grin so bright his guardian feels a small pang of guilt for copping him up for so long. Even as he treats Hope’s bleeding knees, the boy smiles through the stinging pain, excitedly narrating the progress of some human game with a ball.

“And then, and then - it was a little bad, but I got around them and scored again!”

“Falling in the process,” he points out. “Why haven’t you gone straight home, Hope? That field you run around at is so dirty. You should have cleaned these up right away.”

“Buuut, I knew you’d make it ok,” the boy whines, “And… Um.... I kicked the ball too hard, and it kind of… went boom, hehe... I’m stronger than I look, see?! But I couldn’t just leave like that, so I tried to fix it for everyone… Since I saw you mend clothes, and I thought it’d be the same…”

Hope winces a bit when he wraps a bandage around his knee, but doesn’t make a sound. He still casts a “Pain, pain, go away~” charm, to the boy’s delight; Hope hasn’t grown embarrassed by such things yet. The unexpected, overwhelming relief disarms him completely.

“And? How did you do?”

“...Curse, You’re not angry? I made it all round again, and everyone was happy, but then it wouldn’t roll straight anymore and I didn’t want them to be sad, so I said we could come up with a different game - ow,” he squeaks when Curse disinfects his other knee - “but then the parents showed up to take everyone home for dinner. So we didn’t, in the end.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Hey... Curse…?”

Hope’s voice changes, becoming meek and uncertain. Always such a chatterbox, he seems to be mulling over his words, as if trying to say something important.

“Ever since I stopped calling you dad, you look kind of… When I say your name… Should I not say it? You said we’re distant relatives, but maybe it’s rude? Everyone calls their guardians in some respectful way, so maybe I’m making you look bad...”

“Have anyone… gave you a hard time?”

The fear from when Hope first asked about their relation comes back redoubled, together with anger that nearly blinds him, even though none of it shows on his face - if because of him, someone dared to… If he’s made Hope feel othered….

“No, no! Don’t worry! I haven’t really told anyone - my one friend has only his sister, because his mom and dad died in the war, or there’s kids that have only one, so it’s normal, it doesn’t come up, I just wondered…   Hey… Do you feel sick? You look so pale!”

Small hands covered in bandages touch his cheeks. He covers them with his.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Hope. I told you this name myself, haven’t I? We have our way of doing things. As long as you are not unhappy with this…”  
“Of course not!” Hope throws his arms around Curse’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Related or not, I don’t care, you’re my Curse… You’re the best in the world! I… don’t even know what your name means, but it sounds a bit like mine, so I like it! There’s 2 syllabes too, and it’s like we’re a set… I was afraid you hated it…”

Swallowing the bitterness that wells up from somewhere, Curse shakes his head. How ironic it all was, for Hope to take liking to a name so terrifying. He hasn’t meant it as a slight for himself - wasn’t it just the truth? But hearing Hope speak it so lovingly makes it almost too easy to forget his own nature. “Of course not. I’ve just grown unused to people calling it directly.”

“Oh, because of your work? Do you really have to go tomorrow again?”

“I’ll make it up to you, as soon as I can.”

“...Tell me more of that story? The one about two separated brothers!”

“Fufu, you have become quite invested in this tale, haven’t you? But I don’t think we can get to the end tonight.”

 

He wouldn’t be able to finish his story for three more days. Once he returned, Hope never asked him about himself, not ever again.

 

The weight that seemed about to squash him flat before is nothing compared to the pain of leaving that house again and again - there have been so many, so many days they spend apart, falling through Curse’s fingers like grains of fine sand he desperately tries to hold on to. Each time, Hope tries to smile equally brightly in welcome, as if each of Curse’s absences wasn’t longer than the last, it’s as if some of that smile has crumbled away, too. Curse can’t stop the one face that always fills his thoughts from clouding, not even with all of his power - how useless it all is. Any words he can offer are clumsy, not reaching past the barriers Hope has learned to put up without him even noticing.

 

_“I want you to be happy. All I wish for is your happiness.”_

 

But…

 

He’s throwing on his travel garb, acting out the perfect image of normal - just another trip for work, one of the shorter ones, an overnight stay. His movements are mechanical, as if programmed in, happening outside of his will, but Hope doesn’t notice. Curse’s voice doesn’t shake when he talks about cooking a feast they would never get to eat, doesn’t stumble over the promise to spend all day together, even as he tries to engrave every smallest detail about Hope into his mind for the last time. But somehow, replaying the memory, he sees the range of Hope’s expression’s more accurately - his adorable sulk, the way his eyes darken with loneliness and worry he struggles to not let show, how his face lights up in excitement when Curse makes his promises for “tomorrow”

 

_“I will make sure to return to you.”_

 

They are on Sirena, and Hope’s pained, confused face is right in front of his, his pitiful shout echoing through his ears, stabbing into his heart: Curse, _Curse!_ Even as he backs away and hides in the crowd, he never stops seeing it, never stops hearing -

 

The shaking temple, the looming pressure of the Star Sphere about to erase the world, and he can’t let it, not when it would erase that sunny smile, that kind heart that only wished for others, never for himself - that strength, so naive, and yet reassuring, that made you believe in change, he can’t -

 

_“Don’t you care what happens to you?_

_“Don’t you want us to live together?”_

_“Nothing matters without you!”_

 

Everything around him disappears without a trace. All that is left is Hope, with his eyes filled with tears, screaming until his voice was hoarse, but he still… Still…

 

_“Curse!!!”_

 

* * *

 

 

Capella doesn’t know how much time passes until a far echo of a dragon’s cry resounds through the chamber and the wind quiets down, not gradually, like before, but all at once. Vega is unsteady on his feet, his face pale.

“That was… him, was it not?” Capella realizes that his own breathing is labored as well. “I could sense a presence, this time. But that roar…?!”

“Capella, you have to help me - Help me contact him again! Please, quickly!”

  
  


“Lord Vega, breathe!” Capella places his hands onto Vega’s shoulders. “What happened? You have just been communicating, have you not”

“He’s in such pain… I can still feel it, I have to - “

“If you can feel it, then it means he is still here, correct? Lord Vega, you should give him time. You should give him time.

“True…”

“....Would you accompany me for a moment?”

Vega looks up, surprised, to see Capella offering his arm. “Glad...ly, but where to?”

 

It stings his pride to lead the Protector through the most damaged part of the Temple, but even if Vega feels sadness or shock, he does not let it show. He only cranes his neck, studying the corridors he hasn’t stepped in for a thousand of years. There is more rubble here, also from Alba’s attack - at one point, Capella, apologizing profusely, lifts Vega around the waist and sets him down on the other side of a big piece of stone blocking the passage. He turns his head away just in time to see a blush spread over Vega’s cheeks.

Before he can announce they have reached their destination, he hears Vega gasp. “A wall… a wall has crumbled?

In the days when the Temple was permeated by the power of the Star Gem and Vega’s own, such a thing would be impossible. It was when the Gem Shattered and the holy energy concentrated around Vega to form an impenetrable barrier that the building became more vulnerable.

“Forgive me for my negligence,” Capella lowers his head in a deep bow, “I should have seen to repairing it in your place. There is, however, a reason I haven’t. Would you give me your hand?”

Helping Vega over the wall, Capella keeps his eyes on Vega’s face, not wanting to miss his reaction. He’s not disappointed. Vega’s fatigued, worry stricken expression clears away. He covers his mouth with his hands, too polite to gape; his eyes, sparkling like the night sky, widen in awe.

Through the gap in the wall, grass has intruded into the temple and covered the floor of with a green carpet, combed by a gentle breeze from the outside. The grass is dotted with countless yellow flowers which look almost golden in the light.

“Just like a garden… Have you been watching over this place, Capella?”

“It didn’t need much looking after,” is Capella’s humble response. “I simply hoped to get a chance to share this sight with you. Lord Vega, would you like to sit?”

But Vega has already stepped forward. He drops down to his knees, brushing a bunch of flowers with his fingers, feather-light. Not daring to disturb the ethereal scene, Capella simply looks on, until he notices Vega’s shoulders shake.

At first, the trembling is subtle, but soon grow stronger. From where Capella is standing, Vega’s face is hidden from view; however, the gesture of wiping at his eyes is telling. Capella calls out, alarmed,

“My Lord?

Vega takes a shaky breath. “I have never… I never longed for a life outside of the Temple. I have never, so why…?” Hiccuping, he hides his face in both palms. In that moment, he’s so human it breaks Capella’s heart. “Why, simple flowers…”

“There is nothing wrong about that.”

Capella kneels next to him, touching his back. “There is nothing wrong about it. Even you could feel worn out.”

Vega lays his head on Capella’s shoulder. As Capella strokes his back, the tremors slowly fade.

“Thank you…”

“There is no need.”

They sit down on a low stone block. Vega turns his face towards the broken down wall, enjoying the breeze. His eyes are still slightly red, but thankfully, his breathing is not so pained anymore.

“Capella… Do the flowers growing here have a name?” Vega asks quietly.

“I am... not sure, but I will inquire with the guards - “

“I would like to name them after you.”

“....?!”

“They have been growing here quietly for all those years, unnoticed by most - and yet, they have such beauty, and fill me with such joy… Even their color reminds me of you,” Vega smiles softly, resting his head on Capella’s shoulder again, “Golden, like the sun.”

Capella struggles to find the words. “...If that’s your wish…”

“You wanted me to slow down and take a deep breath, haven’t you? Looking at them, I feel like I can still do something… I feel like everything will be alright. Like I can help them once again.”

 

That belief, however, was soon to be shaken.

 

The energy within the Star Sphere chamber fluctuates more and more wildly with every attempt. A few times, Capella sees a silhouette of a huge serpent form above their heads, only to be blown away and dissolve moments later. Just once, a shape of a man appears in front of them, but disappears in what feels like a small explosion, pushing them away. Tension accumulates in Vega’s expression and the set of his shoulders, to never really leave. The smile he tries to cover it up with gradually stops reaching his eyes. Despite Capella’s help, Vega’s colors pale and worsen. Yet, with the stubbornness a thousand years of slumber couldn’t change, he returns to the chamber with almost no rest, stepping past Capella with so much determination he couldn’t stop him even if he tries. He speaks to Capella less and less, not about the process itself nor the state Observer is in. As he falls to his arms and knees, heaving; he stares through the floor with eyes wide in distress, all he says is,

“It’s not…” Vega huffs, “It’s not working…”

 

One night, Capella is abruptly awoken by a premonition, his back drenched in sweat. The place where Vega should be sleeping is empty, his Lord nowhere to be found. Throwing on his outer robe, he takes off running.

 

The radiance streaming from the Star Sphere Chamber is so blinding that it seems to turn night into day. As soon as Capella gets closer he feels holy energy push back at him, making it difficult to take a step forward - but compared to the impenetrable barrier that used to surround Lord Vega as he slept, it’s nothing he can’t put up a fight against.

The glow is even stronger inside, nearly obscuring the silhouette of Vega in the center. His power doesn’t as much flow out of him as explode out of him as shockwaves. Both the floor and the column Capella holds on to tremble like from an earthquake. Capella tries to call out, but his voice is lost in the noise roaring in his ears.

Despite the blinding light, Capella could swear that another figure is taking shape in front of Vega; unlike before, it’s just a general shape of a man, but the willowy, long haired silhouette of the Observer. His presence becomes stronger and more tangible with every moment, until, paradoxically, Capella feels him _less_ \- he’s no longer all around them, but in a single, defined space. Another shockwave shakes the chamber, knocking Capella back, and then, it’s over.

The light goes out, the sudden silence rings through the room. Hearing the dull sound of someone falling, Capella pushes through his nausea and stumbles forward. He thinks only of reaching the figure crumpled down on the floor, his eyes not leaving Vega even as he trips and wavers, his sense of balance messed up by the explosion if power. Once he gets closer, he sees that Vega is curled protectively around another person - a young man with silvery hair.

“I’m sorry, Capella,” Vega breathes, weak and shaky, “I know… I know you wanted… Tried to - keep me safe. But…  the safe way wasn’t working.”

He’s kneeling down and doubled over, the Observer’s head on his lap. Curse seems to be unconscious or sleeping, but even more so…

_Why is he…?_

The Observer appears to be corporeal, his weight creating a dip in Vega’s robes.Vega’s hands don’t pass through him as he strokes the Observer’s forehead, - and yet, somehow, he seems - not all the way here. Not quite.

“I have no idea how I did this, the first time… It was so much more difficult,” Vega mutters, “I have grown so weak…”

“Not at all! But for now, please, lean on me, try not to talk much!”

It’s a testament to his fatigue that Vega doesn’t have to be told twice. He takes Capella up on the offer, curling into his side with a grateful sigh. His eyes flutter closed.

Putting protocol aside, Capella wraps an arm around Vega’s back and lays a hand on the Observer’s shoulder. His concern only deepens as he touches the man; although Capella can’t put it into words, the feeling of Observer’s body isn’t how he expected it to be. It feels wrong.

Just when he thinks that Vega has fallen asleep as well, he hears his soft, tired voice again, barely above a whisper.“Ah… You don’t have to… You are sharing your energy with us, are you not? It’s so gentle…”

“Please, let me do as much.”

“Capella. … Are you mad at me?”

“I am not!” Capella insists, trying to keep the flow of his power stable and subdued, “I couldn’t possibly!”

“You should be. After all, I… I wasn’t honest with you.”

“I have found you in time, so all is well!”

Vega shakes his head. “Not just... Do you remember? I had a talk with Hope.”

Just before the ship of Bestia left Mistero that day, Vega had disappeared into the temple along with the young King of Eterno, only to reappear with their eyes red and gleaming with tears, thanking each other profusely and promising to not lose faith. It did not seem right to pry, at the time.

“Have you heard? The Observer’s last words?”

“They were relayed to me,” Vega says softly, “ Hope had said he would not have minded. Once he started, it all kept spilling out, like from a broken dam. I had tried to stop him, at first, but... speaking appeared to bring him comfort.”

Capella pictures the young boy carry on despite his voice breaking, his features that brimmed with strength when faced with the end of the world screwed up in a pained expression. Yet, even with tears streaming down his face, the warmth his eyes held when speaking of his guardian wouldn’t fade, that is for certain. Suddenly, Capella cannot be sure if the scene is just his imagination, or how Vega really saw it, a memory shared through their temporary connection.

“There was no chronology to his stories,”Vega continues, “No order, but so much feeling. He jumped from topic to topic, never quite finishing one… And yet, each snippet sunk so deep into my heart. I could see each scene he described in front of my eyes. When time came to part ways, he suddenly grabbed onto my hands and confessed that in the moment the Star Gem was unified, he made a wish for the Observer… No, for his most important person, to return to his side, while the Observer has wished for him to become the King of Hope. After we parted, seeing the changes King Hope brought about in our world, I had come to believe Curse’s wish has been fulfilled. Therefore, there was no reason for me to not recognize Hope’s wish as valid, either - But -”

“It didn’t come true. And so, you have been trying to grant it,” Capella’s response isn’t really a question, but Vega still gives a slow nod. For a longer while, he simply breathes, leaning against Capella and conserving his strength.

“Hope believed the Observer hasn’t left us, and that he would keep his promise. Soon, I had proof of the first, so I could not understand why the wish to bring him back didn’t work. At first, I meant only to see my duty to the end, but when I recalled Hope’s stories, I felt, right here, ” Vega places a hand over his heart. “Envy? Longing?”

Vega’s eyebrows draw together in confusion; talking about feelings so personal he looks lost, as if not sure if he is allowed. “Doing everything in your power for someone, taking care of them, close by... risking everything to protect them - I wanted to try… Just once… I could not give up on this wish, no matter what”

Capella’s heart squeezes painfully. He hugs Vega tighter. “You’ve done it! You succeed!”

“Not completely,” Vega replies sadly. “You can feel it, too, can you not? Though the Observer’s consciousness has remained in this world, the enormous power he used to stop the Star Gem from remaking the world - it wouldn’t - A lot of it has been used up completely, scattered too far. If I had been trying to create a new Observer, it might’ve been possible… But today, I finally realized. I had been focusing on that too much. I have been trying to do both, and both kept slipping through my fingers. You know that,” Vega shows a lopsided smile, “I am not good at accepting that. Not at all.” As if wanting to demonstrate, leaning against Capella, Vega tries to shuffle up to a more upright position. His breathing catches and he slides back down.

Without a word of complaint, Capella hurries to arrange him more comfortably. “...Then?”

“Here is another error of mine,” Vega picks up again; seeing Capella opens his mouth to protest, he lays a finger over his lips. “I have been trying to do too much by myself. Feeling his pain pour into me, I wanted to take it away… But I couldn’t bring him back. I have only realized it now, but there was so much to him that I did not know now, so much that was only his. He was not just the Observer - not anymore. I have been trying to force him into that mold too much,” Vega admits. “But only he could do it. All I could do was trust in him and share all the strength I had - and all memory I had of the young King  - and help him regain this form.”

The Observer mumbles something in his sleep. His voice sounds the same as Capella remembers it; not a single detail of his features his off, even the hue of his hair and the single lighter streak matches exactly. Yet, while Vega’s power hums constantly under his skin, even in his weakened state, Capella doesn’t feel anything from his point of contact with Curse. As hard as it is to accept, the young man in dark and gold robes of Eterno pooling around him on the floor doesn’t seem different from a regular human.

“He chose to came back… But will it be alright, once I tell him?”

 

Vega is still unsteady on his feet, but gracefully rejects the offer to be helped back to his quarters. Instead, he trots after Capella, peeking again and again at Curse carried in Capella’s arms, as if worrying he could be blown away by the wind at any time. Capella wouldn’t go that far; even if he is pitifully thin and not difficult to lift, the man’s weight is solid. Still, from time to time, he can’t resist stealing a glance down. Compared to the scattered, faint presence with only the simplest thoughts like that of an exhausted child, t’s a marvel, what Lord Vega’s powers allowed for. No, he has to admit it’s more than that - it is just as Vega said. Even Vega would not be able to able to bring him back if not for the Observer’s own effort to cling to life.

_I should try to call him by his name now, I suppose._

Deep in though, Capella finds himself heading to Lord Vega’s old resting spot. By that time, he begins to feel the effect of carrying a grown man in such an inconvenient way. He stops in front of the overlook, staring not at the his own empty seat and the pile of lavish pillows that were left there, but two silhouettes, one hunched in defeat, one in deep, deep sleep.

“Capella? Is there a problem?”

Capella shakes his head. Lord Vega is by his side. That is in the past - this is just an empty arbor. There is no reason not to use it.

“No, Lord Vega. Not at all.”

 

A problem arises, however, while trying to get Vega to leave and rest.

All with his characteristic grace, he turns a deaf ear to Capella’s pleas and daintily sits at the edge of the stone bench, watching Curse. Once he has decided to not move, there is no force that could move him, Capella knows, but it is not like he would dream to try. An exasperated, but fond smile appears on his lips. Vega’s wish is his own.

“Shall we watch over him until he wakes?”

 

“Perhaps, it is arrogant of me,” Vega admits, brushing a strand of hair from the eyes of the sleeping Curse, “To think that I could assume such a role, even now.”

Capella looks up from the heavy tome in his lap. He’s been turning the pages, hoping to find a similar case in the records of the world’s history - but of course, there has been none.

“Role?”

A faint blush colors Vega’s cheeks. “He is, after all, a life I created..,” he trails off, covering his embarrassment with a soft, humorless smile. “He’s raised a child so wonderfully - and yet… He’s a child himself, in some ways. Although once, he could see through everything, some things about this world were still so new to him, after a thousand years” melancholy sounds through Vega’s voice, his face clouding, “And now, his time to learn will be so limited.”

The Observer had been an unique existence, brought about and necessitated by the event of the Star Gem shattering. That made it difficult to say anything about his condition for certain, but...

From Lord Vega’s haphazard explanations, Capella understood that there was a choice that had to be made. Either the Observer would be brought back, or it would be Curse. His eyes meet with Vega’s; what he sees there only confirms his concerns.

 

“It really shows my arrogance.” The pain in Vega’s expression is palpable. “The reason we are still here is because of the love he found for this world. All I have done was to push him away from it, I just received my lesson about how little I could do to help - and yet, I still want to take care of him now. Once he wakes up, he will definitely hate me. Have I really thought his duty would not weigh on him? Or have I only hoped it wouldn’t?”

Capella closes the book, putting it aside. “He never resented you,” he declares, with full conviction. “His visits to the Temple might have been few and far between, but I never got that impression. Even as it seemed that he would bring an end to this world. At first, I thought it was his inability to grasp human matters - or unwillingness to - “

A loud cough cuts him off. On top of the pillows, Curse stretches lazily and gropes around for his hood. Finding it in place, he pulls it over his eyes to shield them from the light.

“My, my…” comes in a familiar, languid voice, hoarse from disuse “Were the residents of this Temple always so talkative?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The inside of Curse’s head is very quiet.

The absence of information flowing in constantly from all sides does not register as a lack - on the contrary, it’s soothing, in a way he has not experienced in centuries. His body feels oddly light, full of energy - _freshly made_ , he sums it up with wry amusement, before stopping to realize he just made a joke. It is not just his body that is light, but his heart, as well. A sense of calm that comes from having made a decision settles over him.

_I came back._

Once his eyes get used to the lighting, he looks over the dumbfounded faces of two priests staring at him unblinkingly. Vega… Curse has never thought of him in categories of like and dislike, but now, that concerned, kind appearance stirs some kind of feeling in his chest. Gratitude? For someone else than Hope to make him feel, may be a first… But maybe that is what it means, to live in a world, rather than just look at it from above. Maybe that is what being a human will be like.

Just the thought of Hope makes his heart beat so much faster, his lips form a smile - a real, natural smile - and fills him with the urge to jump out of bed now, right this moment, to rush to his side. He recalls the message Vega has shared with him, just when he was at the brink of giving up, consumed by guilt. He could make Hope smile. He could make Hope’s wish come true - only he could.

He could make Hope happy.

“Vega, he says gently, “I may not know what you are thinking, but I can guess. I already know. I think… I think I would like to go home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Yuki! This is just my first humble offering for the occasion, because I originally planned this story to be... many times shorter, and it ended up eating up all of my time, but I'm hard at work on an actual birthday-themed fic, and more! Please stay tuned!
> 
>  
> 
> [My twitter](https://twitter.com/dreamofspring)


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